Rebellion (Lies)
by ropesburg
Summary: There were a lot of samurais in Edo, but no one quite like him. GinHiji oneshot, Hijikatas point of view.


GinHiji oneshot, **canonverse. **

Hijikatas point of view.

* * *

It had begun not so long ago, this thoughtlessness of his. If he thought hard, which he did rarely since it pained him, he thought something may have happened at that tower.

They had been chasing the idiot Katsura, a joui leader that somehow filed respect in fellow men. They tried to catch him, as always to no use. He'd brought out a bomb, and that had struck a chord within Hijikata because he didn't mind fighting with swords or his bare hands, and he could either win or lose. But a bomb, a bomb could cause harm to those who never had done any harm. If he ever had the chance to speak to him face to face, he'd ask Katsura where the justice was in _that_.

He didn't get the chance because then those people appeared. The man with the silver hair had not only avoided the insistent whooshing of the blade but also parried it in a way that impressed him, unsettled him. As if such a crime (because it was a crime to escape him, to make it look so _easy_-) wasn't enough, they had tumbled out of the window and by then the points were adding up (_property damage resisting arrest aiding and abetting_) and Hijikata partially longed to lock him up, but was also perfectly content to follow the chase and thereby risk losing _(because it's worth it, he's worth it-_) when the bomb went sailing and they were still falling, falling-

For minutes or hours. Falling. The man had his worthless bokuton in hand and slammed the bomb upwards, not wanting it to explode on the street.

Falling.

* * *

The man was named Gintoki, he'd learned. He liked sweets, and once in a blue moon he did a job. Sometimes he even got paid. Despite the original impression Hijikata had gotten, the man rarely fought, unless of course you disregarded the seemingly constant squabbles with his two "employees" that acted more like his kids than anything else.

* * *

Someone had disrespected Kondou over a fickle woman. That Kondou had gotten in a bet wasn't surprising, but that he'd _lost_...

It didn't make him angry or even upset as he could see that Kondou was neither. The only response was to put the other person down. Possibly on the street. Possibly in an extravagant fashion, meant to display the swiftness of the Shinsengumi swords.

He shivered with anticipation. It was in fights like these that he allowed himself to go all out, for he was in the right. They skulked streets up and then later down the same. Silver haired samurais there were many, as they would discover, cracking down on everything suspicious. But despite their best efforts the time passed. Nothing.

He and Sougo were walking casually, no one spoke but they shared a defeat between them, slashing the air with its weight.

Something made him stop, take notice. A construction worker, previously over-looked, took his hat off. Silver, white, his hair blank in the crying sun.

_Him_.

The knowledge was like a ruse, eating through his body at lighting speed and he felt his hands reach for his sword because he had to, was not allowed to let him live. _I'm sorry,_ he thought, sorry for killing such a marvellous thing, for he was. Hijikata could see it now, what contingents that had bricked him into the shape he now held. He was sorry for killing him like this, getting the drop on him, he didn't even have a sword-

The man took the wound as if it had been a filthy word slung after him in a darkened alley, he didn't shrug but casually examined the hurt that had been inflicted upon his being. Hijikata took Sougos sword because he couldn't kill him like this, without ironically enough give him a chance to live first. The man had to try, and then Hijikata could kill him.

The man held his shoulder, didn't go for the sword. Hijikata knew the taste that would color his vision from now on. He was still sorry, still wanting a fair fight, but he couldn't wait any longer. Quickly, as not to let either one of them hesitate, he brought his sword down.

He breathed, he was conscious and he knew he was alive but he still couldn't believe it when the metal cracked and the sword, _his sword_, sprung into two distinct pieces.

The man was done, had turned around, now limping. Hijikata looked down on the marred blade, at its utter uselessness. _What do I do?_

_Kondou-san, what do I do?_

He watched as the man made his way down and he did nothing but watching him idly, the white mop of hair that gradually disappeared down the ladder. Hijikata tapped out a cigarette and decided to take his punishment, whatever it might be.

* * *

His interest was strictly work-related. That man could make a proper difference for their cause, to make Edo a safer place, a better place. Granted, he could also help turn Edo into a glossy war-zone, with crates the size of houses where petulant steel bars reached for the sky and the following redemption. To his great dismay, the man did neither. Hijikata wished that the man would take action, since that would allow _him_ to take action. Gintoki- the man, he reminded himself, the man was precarious to keep an eye upon. It wasn't long since their paths crossed for the first time but as far as he could tell, the washed out samurai was perfectly content living from paycheck to paycheck. Without a care in the world, it would seem.

What kind of person could he be, to care so little of important things?

* * *

When Sougo handcuffs them together, he thinks it a cruel joke. Gintoki isn't amused either, begs of "_Okita-kun_" to let them go, in a way that makes his insides quiver. Hijikata wanted a lot of things for himself, but being chained to the tennen-perm samurai made neither first nor second place on said list. To top it off, the person he'd been watching for a month is deftly leaving the apartment, bailing like a paycheck from his hands.

Maybe if he asks nicely, the broody tennen-perm can come along?

No dice.

* * *

Months pass and somehow he's there, the silver haired idi- _man_ that Hijikata really, **truly **should have learned to avoid by now. There has to be a way of not running into him or any of his pack; the loose chain of people that somehow appears to know Gintoki better than he does. It doesn't take more than a trip to the supermarket for him to bump in to him, proudly swinging the keys to his defunct moped in his agile, slender hand.

It pissed him off to no end, the readiness with which the shinsengumi has accepted someone whose resume would make anyone think twice. The more he pieces together, the further back the documents reaches, the more puzzled he becomes by what he sees.

He knew of the war, of the raids and cities pummeled. His town was never in any danger because of its remote location, but the rumor-mill never ceased. The amanto did that, did this. He heard of it but didn't see it until they arrived in Edo and was put under legal construction. They followed Kondou and abided, saw things in a certain light.

Gintoki and the joui 4 had been the complete opposite, physically fighting for their cause. Two of them were still terrorists, the other one a scatterbrained space-captain and then there was Shiroyasha.

The demon clad in white.

* * *

Gintoki sat down leisurely, like they had all the time in the world. He had put the blue and white kimono somewhere else as a last resort to stave off the warmth. They all did it, to some extent or another. Hijikata had hung his coat in his room two days ago and still hadn't gathered up the courage to try wearing it again. The summer taunted everyone with its heat.

Gintokis usual flowing silhouette had given way for something much more sleek and to the point. The black clothes fit him well, the close-cut shirt and casual pants. He wasn't a big man, more dense than skinny, muscular instead of thin.

* * *

He wanted to scream at him, to yell at him to stop being so absolute, as if there was something divine in the set of his shoulders, as if he was the reason to breathe and write letters and drop the chopsticks on the counter of the dirt-struck bar at the imagined call of his voice in the crowd.

* * *

Gintoki snarled, a filthy sound that set his skin ablaze. "What-" he paused to catch his breath, trying not to scream. "-was that about?"

In a fit of deserved rage Hijikata pushed him up against the wall, unkindly. The white head of hair lolled angrily along it, an accompanying hand shot out to grab his cravat in revenge. Hijikata slung his head backwards to free himself of the contraining grip around his neck that was holding him close.

"Don't fucking push me," Gintoki breathed, refusing to let go of the white fabric.

Hijikata clawed at the hand below his neck but when nothing happened he shoved it in the light-grey mop of hair, trying to pry him off but a second later he eased his grip because he wasn't sure he wanted him to let go, not really-


End file.
